Dad in the hospital, flat tire on the Vespa
Dad
My dad is still in the hospital, and still in CTSU. He seems ok, mostly; he's been sitting up in a recliner, eating, his color is good, and he just started working his Sudoku puzzles again. And he's bored silly. But his heartbeat is sometimes irregular, and Monday he had a TIA, which freaked everyone out.
Vespa
The Vespa is in the shop, waiting for a new rear tire to arrive from New York. The tire went flat yesterday morning on the way to work, and that was a mini-adventure all its own.
It was still cool enough that the humidity wasn't a problem, so I'd taken one of my favorite scenic routes to work. I was on a rural road when suddenly the Vespa started handling strangely. I immediately slowed down and started looking for a place to pull over, but there wasn't a shoulder, the side of the road dropped into a ditch, and there wasn't so much as a gravel driveway in sight. Within a second I forgot about that, as the Vespa began slewing wildly from side to side.
I could tell that the problem was from the rear, so the 2% of my brain that wasn't trying to stay upright and in my lane was trying to use the front brake to slow to a stop. Theoretically, if the problem is in the rear, the front brake should work without making handling too much worse. But I quickly determined that any further use of the brake was going to push things beyond my ability to control the scooter. And since the stability was degrading even without using the brakes, and I was approaching a blind curve, I had to do something fast.
I decided that the ditch and (as I later learned) ex-corn field to my right looked pretty comfy. So I steered the Vespa toward the ditch.
Luckily, the ditch was pretty comfy. Bouncing off the instrument panel when the Vespa came to an abrupt stop was less comfy, but I didn't get so much as a grass stain when the Vespa and I dropped sideways.
A nice lady in a mini-van stopped (there was a turnoff for a gravel road just beyond the curve) and held the scooter steady while I wrestled it onto the center stand. She wouldn't leave until I proved that I had a working cell phone. Then I sat in the shade of a dilapidated shack while I waited for a tow truck and called AAA. For a little while I leaned against the vine & flower covered front porch, and a hummingbird showed up to hover in front of my face and chirp at me. Too bad I had my glasses off at the time, it's the closest I've ever seen a hummingbird.
About a half hour into the wait, after the most recent call back from AAA saying they were still looking for someone who could tow a two-wheeler, I checked the tire to make sure there wasn't anything my tire repair kit could do about it. Nope, the tire was worn down to the fabric-like stuff (there are no steel belts on motorcycle tires) all along the center of the ex-tread and flatter than a pancake. I tried inflating it with a CO2 canister, and the air leaked right back out. (I'm curious to hear the shop's guess as to what happened; I'd last checked the tires the morning of the 4th, the air pressure was fine and the tread looked perfect.)
An hour later, a Toyota comes from one of the houses back beyond the shack, and parks beside the shack. This old geezer gets out, and starts interrogating me. Why am I there? What do I want? Am I planning to burn down his shack, because a lot of people try to do that you know? (No, seriously, that's just what he said.) I point out my very obviously flat tire, and explain that I've called AAA and I'm waiting for a tow. He announces, "I'll find someone to tow you!" and stalks back to his car to get his phone, and starts making calls.
Meanwhile, AAA calls me back to tell me they've just found a truck, but it'll be at least another hour before it can get to me. And a sheriff's car pulls up. (Coincidence, or did the old guy call them? I'm guessing the latter.) The AAA operator offers to stay on the phone in case the cop wants to talk to her, and I walk up to the car. Him: "Broke down?" Me: "Yup." "Waiting for a tow?" "Yup. You want to talk to AAA?" "Nope." The cop calls out for the old guy to come talk to him. About two minutes later the sheriff's car pulls away, and suddenly the old guy is best friends forever with me. He wants to tell me all about the (one hundred year old) shack, and every other building in a two mile radius that his father (or was it grandfather?) had built. Luckily, his passenger finally badgered him into getting back into the car so they could continue on to breakfast.
The shade is receding from the shack's front yard, it's starting to get hot, and I'm really noticing that I haven't had anything to drink in over three hours. Finally, the tow truck driver calls, we figure out he got bad directions from the AAA operator, but he's only about twenty minutes away. And the old guy shows back up, sans passenger, to continue his impromptu history lesson. (It actually was sort of interesting. If he hadn't been smoking, and I'd had something to drink, it might have been enjoyable.)
Finally, the tow truck showed up. And it was shiny new, with excellent A/C in the cab, and the old guy gallantly offered to help load my Vespa. About 4 1/2 hours after the flat, I was finally at the motorcycle dealership, guzzling down complementary drinks from their cooler. About an hour later, one of the employees gave me a ride home on his way to lunch.
THE END!
My dad is still in the hospital, and still in CTSU. He seems ok, mostly; he's been sitting up in a recliner, eating, his color is good, and he just started working his Sudoku puzzles again. And he's bored silly. But his heartbeat is sometimes irregular, and Monday he had a TIA, which freaked everyone out.
Vespa
The Vespa is in the shop, waiting for a new rear tire to arrive from New York. The tire went flat yesterday morning on the way to work, and that was a mini-adventure all its own.
It was still cool enough that the humidity wasn't a problem, so I'd taken one of my favorite scenic routes to work. I was on a rural road when suddenly the Vespa started handling strangely. I immediately slowed down and started looking for a place to pull over, but there wasn't a shoulder, the side of the road dropped into a ditch, and there wasn't so much as a gravel driveway in sight. Within a second I forgot about that, as the Vespa began slewing wildly from side to side.
I could tell that the problem was from the rear, so the 2% of my brain that wasn't trying to stay upright and in my lane was trying to use the front brake to slow to a stop. Theoretically, if the problem is in the rear, the front brake should work without making handling too much worse. But I quickly determined that any further use of the brake was going to push things beyond my ability to control the scooter. And since the stability was degrading even without using the brakes, and I was approaching a blind curve, I had to do something fast.
I decided that the ditch and (as I later learned) ex-corn field to my right looked pretty comfy. So I steered the Vespa toward the ditch.
Luckily, the ditch was pretty comfy. Bouncing off the instrument panel when the Vespa came to an abrupt stop was less comfy, but I didn't get so much as a grass stain when the Vespa and I dropped sideways.
A nice lady in a mini-van stopped (there was a turnoff for a gravel road just beyond the curve) and held the scooter steady while I wrestled it onto the center stand. She wouldn't leave until I proved that I had a working cell phone. Then I sat in the shade of a dilapidated shack while I waited for a tow truck and called AAA. For a little while I leaned against the vine & flower covered front porch, and a hummingbird showed up to hover in front of my face and chirp at me. Too bad I had my glasses off at the time, it's the closest I've ever seen a hummingbird.
About a half hour into the wait, after the most recent call back from AAA saying they were still looking for someone who could tow a two-wheeler, I checked the tire to make sure there wasn't anything my tire repair kit could do about it. Nope, the tire was worn down to the fabric-like stuff (there are no steel belts on motorcycle tires) all along the center of the ex-tread and flatter than a pancake. I tried inflating it with a CO2 canister, and the air leaked right back out. (I'm curious to hear the shop's guess as to what happened; I'd last checked the tires the morning of the 4th, the air pressure was fine and the tread looked perfect.)
An hour later, a Toyota comes from one of the houses back beyond the shack, and parks beside the shack. This old geezer gets out, and starts interrogating me. Why am I there? What do I want? Am I planning to burn down his shack, because a lot of people try to do that you know? (No, seriously, that's just what he said.) I point out my very obviously flat tire, and explain that I've called AAA and I'm waiting for a tow. He announces, "I'll find someone to tow you!" and stalks back to his car to get his phone, and starts making calls.
Meanwhile, AAA calls me back to tell me they've just found a truck, but it'll be at least another hour before it can get to me. And a sheriff's car pulls up. (Coincidence, or did the old guy call them? I'm guessing the latter.) The AAA operator offers to stay on the phone in case the cop wants to talk to her, and I walk up to the car. Him: "Broke down?" Me: "Yup." "Waiting for a tow?" "Yup. You want to talk to AAA?" "Nope." The cop calls out for the old guy to come talk to him. About two minutes later the sheriff's car pulls away, and suddenly the old guy is best friends forever with me. He wants to tell me all about the (one hundred year old) shack, and every other building in a two mile radius that his father (or was it grandfather?) had built. Luckily, his passenger finally badgered him into getting back into the car so they could continue on to breakfast.
The shade is receding from the shack's front yard, it's starting to get hot, and I'm really noticing that I haven't had anything to drink in over three hours. Finally, the tow truck driver calls, we figure out he got bad directions from the AAA operator, but he's only about twenty minutes away. And the old guy shows back up, sans passenger, to continue his impromptu history lesson. (It actually was sort of interesting. If he hadn't been smoking, and I'd had something to drink, it might have been enjoyable.)
Finally, the tow truck showed up. And it was shiny new, with excellent A/C in the cab, and the old guy gallantly offered to help load my Vespa. About 4 1/2 hours after the flat, I was finally at the motorcycle dealership, guzzling down complementary drinks from their cooler. About an hour later, one of the employees gave me a ride home on his way to lunch.
THE END!